Antichrist- Michael Langdon (American Horror Story: Murder House)
by awkward-iero-gurl
Summary: Michael Langdon's story. "The Holy Ghost merely whispered in the Virgin Mary's ear and she begat the son of God. If the Devil's going to use a human womb for his spawn, he's going to want a little more bang for his buck." Reviews welcome :33
1. Teen Spirit

_**Chapter #1 - Teen Spirit**_

I don't want to meet the new neighbours. Why should I? And why would they want to see some greasy teenage boy from next door while they're peacefully trying to move into the most unsubtle house in the entire street? Besides, I thought it was private property. Grandma would never let me play there as a kid and now all of a sudden she expects me to just go intruding through there to greet the new family with false smiles and chocolate cupcakes. Grandma is fucking nuts. That sounds really bad but it's the truth. Of course I love her, I mean it's that unconditional type of love where no matter how much a person pisses you of you'd probably still give your left arm for them or something. Sometimes I think I take for granted that she took me in, I mean she didn't have to.

I never knew my parents. In fact, I barely know anything about them. I can't even really remember them. My mother died during childbirth. Great going Michael, fucking kill the only person that could truly love you before you even see their face. I don't know what she looked like, or her name but I do have a memory of this this warm glowing presence. It's a joyful feeling and part of me is convinced that it's her, my mother. Grandma tells me that she was beautiful, but that's all she will tell me. But I don't know anything about my father, and I most likely never will.

I lie on my bed with a thin stream of afternoon sunlight trickling through my blind like a river. Dust floats through the beam peacefully. I watch, mesmerised as the bass of my music pulsates in my eardrums. My pondering is soon interrupted by the violent tapping on my bedroom door.

"Michael, come out from there right now!"

Maybe if I close my eyes and keep quiet she'll go away. _Oh, what's that? My severely introvert teenage grandson is refusing to come out of his room despite my graceful demands? Well I guess the rational thing to do would be to leave the poor soul alone!_ Yeah, something tells me that isn't exactly my Grandma's style of parenting. That something being a good sixteen years experience of said effective methods. Too soon, she heaves open the door to witness my present state of leisure.

Grandma is old but beautiful. We don't really resemble each other much but in a way you can tell we're from the same blood line. She has curled strawberry blonde hair with a tragic hint of grey. It's actually really elegant but not exactly the youthful image she obsesses over. Tanned skin, red lips, soulful brown eyes. Is it normal to envy an elderly woman's beauty?

"Michael Langdon, will you turn off that God awful music and come with me to welcome the new residents next door to the neighbourhood like the obedient grandson I long for and deserve?"

I have I dozen witty comebacks locked and loaded at the bottom of my throat and I'm ready to fire the shots just like every angst filled prepubescent male does. But as soon as I meet those glassy pain filled eyes, somehow I can't refuse to tag along with my inappropriately upbeat Grandma to meet the neighbours.

I've never been inside the house before. I've always loved it, it's so beautiful and dominant looking. It's a house with a personality, soul. Grandma shuffles along the pavement with a skip to her step cradling a plate of homemade cupcakes. I trail behind, melancholy and absentmindedly. I almost completely miss her avoid the apparently high social standards known to man as ringing the doorbell.

"Grandma, what are you doing?" I mumble confused.

"The backdoor is open," she grins cheekily. Typical Grandma.

Before I can protest she insists that the majority of residents adjust to her becoming a regular visitor. I try to blackout the confused small talk of the apparent new couple. Socialising has never exactly been my thing. I aimlessly wander the halls of the infamous house. So many rooms. I'm drowning in my thoughts and before I know it, it isn't long until I meet her.

"Um, what are you doing in our house?"


	2. One Of Those Crazy Girls

I really am trying not to stare, honestly. I absorb every detail of her before the moment escapes my firm grasp. She's a small pale girl with waist length light brown hair and big brown irises. She isn't gorgeous but she's not bad looking and something about her presence has captivated me. I finally process her dwelling confusion, I've just walked into her room.

"Sorry, I live next door, uh I should've knocked but I was just walking around the house without really thinking and yeah.." I smile goofily as she stares at my blankly, hoping to clear my name. Shit, she doesn't even know my name. "I'm Michael Langdon," I add timidly.

"Zoe Benson," she cracks a half smile, eyes rolling to the floor. I find myself smiling back at her as she skips back over to her bed and sits cross legged while she fiddles with her iPod.

I hadn't even noticed the music lurking in the background of the room like a natural spectator. "Kurt Cobain? So you like the oldies?" I raise an eyebrow and smirk.

Zoe grinned and her cheeks flushed slightly like roses blooming. It isn't her regular forced half smile but a real smile, she looks like a little girl who's just seen her birthday present or whatever. "He's like a poet to me," her words twirl not meeting my eyes.

"And poets live forever," I muse. It's in this moment that I realise Zoe is completely pure and naïve, and it was the simple things that made her happy like her Kurt Cobain. However it almost breaks my heart, people like Zoe don't deserve to have to be exploited by the world. I edge carefully around the bedrooms perimeter studying it's contents from the previous owners. "So, new house huh? What's it like living here?" I'm genuinely curious as a flick through the smooth pages of some ancient book about birds.

"What, the _murder house?_" she sneers in a horror mocking tone.

I knit my eyebrows in confusion. "Murder house?" I half laugh.

Her jaw drops. "Oh my fucking god, don't tell me you don't know?" Her tone is a mixture of disbelief and desire.

I bite down on my lip and shake my head, "Explain."

Her iPod lands safely on the bed covers and she taps the space in front of her impatiently gesturing me to sit. I obey her commands and listen in curiosity.

"A good number of the former residents here have been involved in violent murders and suicides, that's why it was so cheap on the market. Mum and Dad didn't really care though they just wanted a new start,"

"New start?" I interrupt. Panic flushes in her expression signalling a touchy subject. Fuck it Michael.

"There hasn't been a known death on the property since like 2011, that's about sixteen years ago I think," she continues like I never even said a word, thankfully. "But most of the owners have suddenly moved out for unknown reasons, some even claim they saw things," there's a burning passion in her eyes. I can tell this chick is into all that supernatural shit.

"Well I think you're full of bullshit," I tease pursing my mouth.

"It's true you asshole!" Zoe giggles. She reaches for what looks like some old books and slides out some even older photographs. "These were the first owners of the house, Charles and Nora Montgomery and their son Thaddeus. Charles was a doctor and he built the house for Nora. But seriously, some trippy shit went on in their little home here."

I look at the family photographs and shake my head. "Whatever it is it's an urban myth," I laugh.

"You're impossible," she giggles under her breath and glances at me for a while to the tune of _Come As You Are_ in the background.

Just for this moment I'm lost from the world, I don't think I've ever been this comfortable with another person before and I've only known Zoe for a matter of minuets. What the fuck am I doing.

"The last family that died in here were called the Har-"

"Michael, we're leaving, now," I sharp but familiar voice sends a shocking chill through my body. It's Grandma.

I quickly leap up from the bed to join her, flashing Zoe an apologetic look, I really want to listen to her stories.

"What a lovely home you have dear," Grandma tells Zoe before leaving in a soppy false tone that makes me feel sick.

Then I leave her alone again, on her own and exposed for this shit world to toy with her innocence.


	3. Bleed Just To Know You're Alive

**Hey, thank you for the support i've been getting ;3 i'm really enjoying writing this and i hope people will enjoy this fanfiction! i have a lot of ideas and i'm hoping to cross all three of the AHS universes into one big story with a slightly AU take on a lot of it (mainly the coven characters) :D**

****IMPORTANT**: slight trigger warning for this chapter, brief descriptions of abuse and self harming, i personally tried not to make it too explicit and handle it maturely but you never know who it could affect i guess.**

**reviews are _extremely _appreciated and i'm all open for one-shot promts ^.^ i have my tumblr url linked in my bio. hope you enjoy! C:**

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**Michael's P.O.V -**

Grandma is just as eager to leave as she was to meet the Bensons. She anxiously departs from Zoe's mother who I now process: a pretty lady with straight blonde hair and swollen lips. The tiny walk back to our house is blurry and dazed, my mind is too poisoned with everything about Zoe. Her eyes, her voice, her hair, her voice, her sent. I enter our old fashioned kitchen with, for the first time, a genuine smile on my face. However this smile is soon shatter by the sudden stinging slap across my now burning cheek, awakening me from my daydreams. I desperately grasp my face and look up to meet Grandma's furious gaze.

"Oww, what the fuck?" I wine painfully.

Another harsh smack impacts my face setting it ablaze, "I don't want you to ever talk to that girl again Michael, do you understand?"

I nod weakly, salty waves now splashing down the shores of my red skin.

"And don't you dare use that language around me. I just don't want you mixing with her type, so young and curious. There's too many bad memories in that house, too many and they shall not be dissected with such inappropriate passion. She's a bad girl. Not like you Michael, my gift, my angel. Now stay away from her."

At this I escape to my room harshly. What the fuck's wrong with her? I can hang around with whoever I want to. Angel? Bullshit. And I would prove it's bullshit. No matter how much she wants it I would never be her perfect grandson. I lazily fetch a secret box from under my bed and retrieve my friends. The freezing metal edge kisses my lonely skin, leaving perfect crimson trails behind. I soak in the breath taking adrenaline. She can't make my choices for me, this is my world. But still, something inside of me was agonisingly flashing warning signals. Something was telling me not to go back to that house.

* * *

**Zoe's P.O.V –**

The knocking rattled through my room. "Yeah?" I call out. My eyes don't leave the inky warmth of the book I sit reading. Mum enters the room, I'm still not looking up but I can tell it's her. Dad's always more aggressive with the way he goes about things. Not scary aggressive, it's probably just a man thing.

"Hey honey," her familiar voice echoes.

I finally look up. "Hi mum?"

"So, loving the house? Room's looking good already," she giggles twirling around my bedroom like an irritating bug.

"Yeah, I guess," I sloppily reply itching for her to leave me be.

She plummets down onto my bed infront of me. "I think it was the best decision to move out here after what happened Zoe, now we can start all over again."

The sudden topic change makes me increasingly uncomfortable. Why does everyone have to keep bringing it up? And maybe I don't want to start over, does anyone ever stop to understand what I want?

Mum kind of senses my discomfort somehow. "What about that Michael boy huh? Seems like a nice kid, pretty cute," she teased, nudging me and biting her bottom lip.

The corner of my mouth twitches into a mild smirk at his mention, matching my furious blush. The truth was that Michael's all I can think about since I met him. He was nothing like any of the guys back home. He seemed so sensitive and kind and intelligent and funny. And his smile, don't even get me started on his smile. But the best thing about Michael was that he listens to me, it actually feels like he cares about whatever I have to say, and that's a first. I quickly realise that I was off on a mental tangent and try to regain control.

"Cordelia, can you come help me fix this wallpaper?" I hear my Dad shout from downstairs.

"Coming."

Ugh, why's everyone got to be so loud around here?

As mum approaches the door to leave she crosses paths with an old, concerned looking red haired maid. "Oh Zoe, this is Moira she's going to be our maid. She knows the really well she's been working here for years, be polite dear."

Moira gives me a weak smile as mum disappears and begins to silently dust the shelves across my room carefully.

I try to bury myself back into my book but something about the whole situation is making me feel uneasy. Part of me is tempted to see if she knows anything about any of murder house's previous residents but another part of me yells inappropriate so I just drown in the awkward silence.

When Moira is finished she suddenly swerves to face me confidently. Before leaving she firmly states, "I don't like that boy," leaving me confused and jaw dropped.


	4. Hospital For Souls

**i wrote this really really late last night so sorry for any mistakes. hopefully the pace will pick up soon because i feel like this story is getting really boring but oh well :3 i'd appreciate any suggestions on improvement. chapter 5 will be this chapter from michael's point of view, hope you enjoy :D 3**

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**Zoe's p.o.v. –**

School makes me feel nervous. Starting a new school in a new town where I don't know anyone makes me feel something slightly above nervous. I'm feeling sick. I have that twisted, nauseous feeling in my stomach, my throat, my entire body. You know that weird sensation when you're on holiday or sleeping over somewhere and you wake up in an unfamiliar environment that you haven't had time to get used to? Well, that's also violently mixed on top of the anxious school feeling. It feels like a dream.

My inappropriately upbeat alarm shakes me harshly awake at 7:00 AM, as I become a helpless slave to the day's upcoming unavoidable events. I try to get ready quickly so that I have less time to drown in my own deadly thoughts. After awkwardly settling on a comfortable oversized grey jumper, black denim shorts and tights, I put my usual amount of makeup on and organise my bag. I take one last look in my mirror, letting out an unsatisfied sigh, and walk out of my bedroom door drowsily.

"Hey honey, all ready for your first day?" my mum askes absentmindedly while sipping coffee and looking at her laptop in the kitchen.

"Yeah, I guess," I murmur while standing in the doorway.

"Have a good day sweetie," my dad smiles walking past me and joining her happily.

I exchange a weak grin and drift out the front door. As I started to walk to school, I carefully push in my earphones and hit play on my favourite Nirvana album to keep my mind off of things for now. I walk past Michael's house and wonder what he's doing, from looks of things he probably left before me. I secretly hope he might come and talk to me today, it would be nice to know someone. He was probably busy with all of his friends though.

The school is really big. It makes me feel a little more sick (if that was even possible) knowing how much time I'd be spending in this hell hole. I try and keep my eyes to the floor but I can feel their eyes judging me, panic flushes through my body rapidly causing my knees to become weak. It was going to be a long day. However, something at the back of my mind is looking desperately for a familiar blonde haired blue eyed boy.

My first lesson is maths. Great, I'm shit at maths. As I walk into the energy pumped classroom I feel lost. Everyone seems to have their own place in the social aspect of the class, someone they belong to while I'm just kind of there, like a ghost. It could be passed as a new kid thing, but it was exactly the same at my previous school. I take a seat at the back of the class and keep my throbbing head down, hoping not to bring any attention to my own existence. Our teacher is a small Asian man called Mr Lewinski who seems tired of the class' bullshit and doesn't seem to care much for the work. I spend the entire lesson doodling song lyrics in my book and thinking about Michael.

The day dragged but lunch seemed to come soon enough. I still hadn't socially interacted with a single life form. Everyone around me seems numb and blurry. I head towards the canteen but my eyes catch a huddle of preppy girls lurking intimidatingly by the lockers. I try to look away quickly when the blonde bitch in the middle trips someone up. I slow down and watch in horror as they erupt into manic laughter and cruel taunts, she looks pretty pleased with herself and I quickly decide that I don't like her. The girl she tripped shamefully picks herself off of the floor, I see her now. She's tall with long curly blonde hair, dark smoky eye makeup and grungy hippie clothes that I actually like a lot.

"Fucking watch where you're going, freak," the girl spits in her face.

"S-sorry Madison," she whimpers in a strong Cajun accent and runs off down the hall with damp eyes and clutching her books tightly against chest.

I immediately sympathise with her, what did she even do to that Madison bitch? I hated girls like her, plenty of them back home. Suddenly her fierce eyes meet mine. I'm startled greatly but somehow still, I can't look away.

"What are you staring at you skanky bitch?"

And so it begins. I quickly turn and continue my eventful journey, blocking out the hideous, high pitched laughter of self-obsessed teenage girls dwelling behind me. I grab a seat on my own and try to dig up some kind of emotion reflection on my day so far. Lonely? Depressing? Possibly. My thoughts are burst open loudly like a balloon when I hear an angry boy shouting across the packed hall.

"Where'd you think you're going Langdon?!"

My gaze retreats up like a reflex and I finally see him a few feet infront of me. His messy blonde mop is hanging over his pale blue eyes, he's wearing a long sleeve black top that's tight against his tall muscular form and dark jeans. He looks dangerously alert against whoever called his name. His eyes weren't that warm liquid ocean like I remembered bathing in but now icy and frozen solid, complete with a cold snarl across his face. It's him but he's not like the same warm chiasmic boy that I felt such a deep connection with in my bedroom, this is a reckless misfit, a victimised introvert, a passionate outcast. I don't care though he's finally here with me, the poisoner of my recent thoughts. It's Michael.


	5. Scared

**Sorry this chapter is quite short in comparison, sorry it took a little while and sorry it doesn't have much going on. I know i said it would be chapter 4 from Michael's point of view but i decided to go a little more in depth with his thoughts and add more connections from murder house episodes that will become clear later on;) i wrote this at different points over about a week because i was a bit of a challenge so sorry for ****messiness. thank you for the new reviews and follows ily!:D**

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**Michael's pov –**

It's hard to sleep when there's a monster in your head, especially when that monster is a figment of your own mind. I'd gotten a little sleep but not enough. The reason I couldn't sleep was because it was a Sunday night, and I was going back to school after what felt like a long, uneventful break in the morning. I sit in my dark room, head clouded with voices, and watching the sun slowly rise in dread. I rock back and forth, my eyes are wandering unconsciously as I furiously twitch and shake, anxiety filling every movement.

Zoe's bedroom window comes into my blurry focus through the dark morning sunrise. Her window is dark, of course she's still asleep, she wasn't a freak like me that had to wake up hours before school just to shut the nightmares out. A huge part of me wants to accompany Zoe on her first day at Westfield, I'd never really had any friends and although I was normally shy something about Zoe made me feel confident and alive. However, I know I can't after yesterday. I wasn't really that I was scared of the house, or scared or what my Grandma would do if she found out I was talking to Zoe again. And fuck, it wasn't anything about Zoe either, she was awesome. The real thing that scared me from talking to Zoe again was myself.

I'm scared of myself. I'd figured out what it was about that house that was bothering me so much, the monsters in my head were unusually nasty whenever I'm anywhere near there. They'd become louder, tell me to do more bad things to myself and other people. As soon as I'd met Zoe though all of that seemed to clear, it made sense now why I was so drawn to her presence in the first place, she was like a light in my darkness, filtering through the storm. But I'm the kind of disastrous person that fucks up everything they touch, I couldn't inflict my misfortune on someone as precious as Zoe.

My eyes snatch shut tightly as I try to shut the voices out but it's not use. The pictures are flickering dimly to life behind my crumpled eyelids now, recurring fantasies that I couldn't control. I rocked backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards on a rocking chair, screeching eerily with each swing. The images changed and flickered randomly but the rocking chair always stayed the same in this particular dream. I'm too terrified to open my eyes in case the pictures came to life so I just sit there paralyzed with fear watching.

The first picture is bright, pure colours like white and a duck egg blue. The room is similar to my own but a nursery. The vibrant stain of blood smeared across the floor and my own hands twists the purity of the scene taking away any innocence. The second scene is a much darker room, in fact it's so dark I can't even really visualize my surroundings, but it's always the same. The sound of screaming shreds my ears and I uncontrollably keep my rhythm on the chair. I've never been sure if the lights are flickering or it's just the violent, repetitive switching between each scene but one thing I'm sure of. I see a monster, staring at me cold. Eyes hollow and black as night, teeth like razors and the blood of man stained across his jaw, weak hands with unnaturally long fingers and nails crippling and reaching out desperately towards me.

I can't scream, I can't open my eyes. I just have to sit there everytime rocking backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards and endure the sweet torture. I'm so use to it by now they don't even shock me, but it's only when I'm all alone with my own mind. That's the scary thing, it's all in my mind. Nothing scares me more than the images I somehow create and lose all control of. Nothing scares me more than these images somehow spinning out of control. Nothing scares me more than these images seeping through the cracks of my skull and into the real world. Nothing scares me more than these images somehow tragically coming into contact with Zoe. And that's why I am now scared to talk to Zoe. It's a heavy burden being the thing that scares you the most, because you never know just how much longer you can keep it together and control yourself. You never know just how much it's going to take before you break.


	6. Angel From My Nightmare

**a/n: yeah I have some explaining to do, sorry for the lack of updates I've been very busy with school, personal stuff and pretty much just lacking and trying to perfect my plans for this fanfic. But don't worry I never intended to give up on it! I'm hoping to update a lot more frequently now so let's do this;)**

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**Michael's POV**

My entire body rattles with anxiety as I try to escape the thoughts forcing their way into my mind. "Leave me alone," I whisper to myself. "Just stop, please stop, go away!" Suddenly, the punchy opening guitars of a My Chemical Romance song erupt from my alarm clock. I forcefully slam my clammy palm down on it and let out a sigh of relief due to the absence of those awful thoughts. I perch there on my bed panting for a few seconds to recover when I check the time; 7:00 AM. I'm already up and dressed for school so I decide to just grab my dark brown messenger bag and get to school early. This was becoming a habit of mine, since I was always up so early and wanting to avoid Grandma.

School gives me so many emotions, anger, fear, anxiety, depression, so I always decide to do anything I can to keep myself distracted and numb. When I arrive it's still very early and quiet with only a few teachers walking about drinking coffee or sometimes students scattered around different areas studying quietly. I perform my usual routine, quietly slipping into the mostly empty and ghostly library, snatching a random book from a shelf and throwing myself into a seat to do nothing but wait and think. I gradually begin to scan today's selected book which appears to be about birds. It reminds me of that book in Zoe's bedroom. Zoe. I had to stop thinking about her, it was getting too dangerous. I plan to avoid her at all costs, for that day at least.

I get bored of the book quickly and scroll through various social networking sites on my mobile phone for about an hour before I finally hear the bell signalling the start of another lonely day. I'm an outcast at Westfield High. I guess it didn't have to be that way but I almost tempted that fate. I think I scare people, I hate talking to people, I always dress dark and seem pissed off, and when I do talk or do something people always say I'm weird. Maybe I am, but I don't really care. I never want to fit into society, the world is a filthy place. I'd always thought I'm better away from any human until I met Zoe, she's the only person I've ever really clicked with. I secretly hope I don't bump into her today.

Somehow I enter late to my first lesson. Fuck knows how since I'd been sat in the library for an hour but I'm late to every lesson, I guess I just get lost in my own head between classes I'm easily distracted by anything. I sloppily slam open the door to my English classroom, who fall silent at my arrival, and I purposely stumble into my seat loudly. I always love making an entrance.

My teacher Mr Howard sighs loudly and grumbles, "Late on the first day back Michael Langdon, I'm not even surprised."

I've always liked Mr Howard. He never even punishes me or shouts at me unlike most of my teachers. He's just firm. He's tall, middle aged, skinny, brown haired and we have two things in common. He also always dresses in dark clothes and looks pissed off. I like to imagine that when he was my age he might have been a little like myself and maybe that's why he never gets angry or shouts. Mr Howard gets it.

I attempt at indulging myself into the class work but realise I'm missing something. I tap on the shoulder of the girl sitting in front of me. "Hey," I whisper.

The curly haired blonde hesitates but turns around nervously and meets my gaze curiously without speaking a word.

"Sorry, I um forgot to bring a pen do you have one I could borrow?"

She awkwardly rolls a pen on to my desk and snaps her head back around to face the front.

"Thanks.." I chuckle even though she's not looking and I begin scribbling on my notebook furiously.

* * *

Later I'm in the lunch hall greedily devouring my sandwich, sat alone. I get up and make my way across the buzzing room to reach the bin when I crash into someone. "I'm sorry," I whisper tiredly when I look up to see Luke, one of the jocks who just happen to hate me for no particular reason I'm aware of.

"Well look it's Michael, I missed you over break," he smirks cockily.

I roll my eyes and retreat backwards. "Look Luke I'm not in the mood for this shit today maybe tomorrow just let it go." At this I'm almost running in the opposite direction, shoving past the crowd. I'm not prepared to take a beating first day back, it's already been hard enough. Plus Grandma would kill me if she saw me bruised up already.

"Where'd you think you're going Langdon?!"

Luke can be so loud when he wants to be. Kids are starting to pay attention now that one of my most popular boys in school is making such a scene. Why me?

I spin around trying not to look scared. I'm not scared. I'm just hurt and broken, sick to death or being the victim every day. I look the brunet boy dead in the eye. That's right he's just a boy, a mere child, king of the playground playing another sick game with his toys. I look at him. Everyone is listening and without hesitation I open my mouth, "Fuck off Luke."

He just laughs at this, oh and then punches me in the face.

It doesn't hurt too badly, but my jaw is aching and throbbing as I give him an evil glare. "That's all you've got? Hit me again Luke."

And he does. It hurts this time, it hurts a lot.

I just laugh a psychotic laugh and spit blood across the canteen floor. "HIT ME! HIT ME LUKE!" I scream, practically dangling myself in front of him. I don't know why i'm doing it but i can't seem to stop.

He clenches his fist, enjoying his playground game and goes to punch me again when he suddenly yelps loudly and tumbles to the floor grabbing his crotch in pain.

Confused, I turn my head and I think I'm dreaming but it's Zoe.

She's with my, by my side and her presence is the best feeling. She kicks him again but in the head and hisses, "Fuck off Luke." Then she's looking at me, and I'm looking back at her, and I'm smiling so much and nothing else in the world matters. Not even that I've just been punched in the jaw twice, or that she's just kicked a guy in the balls, or that even the entire school is watching and practically rioting or that a teacher is rushing up to the scene.

"Michael Langdon! Luke Ramsey! Head teacher's office now! Um bring the new girl too..."


End file.
